


Assorted Anya Reiss Based Snippets

by ShippingEverything



Series: i've already given up on myself twice [3]
Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M, idk i just dont want this snippets sitting in my drive, some implied csa in the second one sorry, thought i'd share them if im Done w this series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 22:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything
Summary: i'm done w this series but i have Several fic bits that i thought y'all might enjoy so: have them





	1. fix me in forty-five

**Author's Note:**

> as a 20 year old, writing this fic makes me Wildly uncomfortable, but i still look fondly (or, well, _semi_ -fondly) back on it. i'm reorganizing my google drive and i found these and well! thought that _someone_ might appreciate them.  
> they all abruptly and there's no closure but i just. need to get them out there. for myself bc im never gonna finish them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is Very short but yknow what sometimes its like that
> 
> title from thriller by fob

 

Hans knows that life is unpredictable. He wishes that it wasn’t, it would make everything so much easier if life was as simple as a pattern that could be mapped and studied and solved, but it’s _not_ and he knows this but he still wonders just how he got to where he is.

Meaning, of course, on his bed in his paternal grandparent’s home with Ernst Robel writhing in his lap.

“ _Please_ , will you fuck me? I haven’t had you in, like, _forever_ ,” Ernst begs, grinding into Hans. Hans hadn’t planned any of this. It’s a Thursday, so his grandparents will be out all night ‘playing bridge’, but he hadn’t intended to take Ernst today; hell, he hadn’t even invited Ernst over, and yet here he is.

“Should I really? You come to my house, uninvited, and now you want me to fuck you,” He says, ghosting a hand over the bulge in Ernst’s pants, feeling the heat even through Ernst’s boxer and jeans. He squeezes Ernst’s cock once and then pulls away before Ernst can buck up into the friction.

“Hans, you _tease_ ,” Ernst whines, bringing a smirk to Hans’ face. He’s going to fuck Ernst--of course he is, he’s a teenage boy that likes sex and Ernst _literally_ fell into his lap, ready and willing--but the control that he has, the way that Ernst shudders and mewls, it’s all intoxicating.

“You want me to pound you into the mattress until you scream, right?” Hans asks rhetorically, letting himself stoke Ernst’s clothed cock, placing a hand on Ernst’s hips to stop their stuttering, “Hard and fast, the way you deserve.”

Ernst pulls Hans’ hand off and uses his newfound freedom to roll their hips together. They don’t line up perfectly but Hans is so hard that it hurts and the friction is delightful. “Come on, you want this too, come _on_.”

The sound of Ernst begging is music to Hans’ ears. He shifts Ernst off of his lap, ignoring the whining that follows, and makes him lay down on the bed. As soon as Ernst is horizontal, he starts making grabby hands at Hans and bucking his hips, as though that'll make Hans move faster.

“Patience,” Hans says, reaching into his bedside table to get a condom and his bottle of lube, “You may be into pain, but I assure you that going in raw would be terrible for both of us.”


	2. Crashing Not Like Ships Or Cars (but more like p-p-p-parties)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge tw for implied csa (specifically done by a member of the church) and homophobia.
> 
> title from This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race by fob. also this one has a summary attached to it but i never got far enough in it to like, make the summary make sense. have it anyway
> 
> Ernst Robel likes many, many things, but three in particular: weed, sex, and Hanschen Rilow. Only two out of three of them are easy to get, but hey, a little hard work never killed anyone, right?

 

 

Ernst Robel is seven years old when he kisses a girl for the first time. Her name is Marianna Wheelan and she has tanned skin, dark curly hair, big brown eyes, and really cool hot pink hearing aids. 

“We’re gonna get married, right?” Marianna asks afterwards.

Ernst, who doesn’t even know what he has for lunch that day, much less anything else, shrugs. “Do you wanna marry me?”

“I dunno,” Marianna frowns slightly, “Don’t we have to? Thea kissed Bobby Maler and they’re married now.”

“ _ Really _ ?”

“Really!” Marianna confirms, nodding aggressively. “I think it’s a  _ grown-up rule _ .”

Ernst considers this, then takes her hands. “If that’s the rule, then okay, we’ll get married.”

Marianna grins at him bright and sincere, and Ernst tries to smile back. He doesn’t  _ really _ want to marry Marianna, but if it’s a grown-up rule then he’ll do it. 

(He buys her a silly pink plastic ring from a vending machine and she gives him a stuffed tiger that came as a toy in her Happy Meal. Later, he will lie in bed and think about how the tiger still sits on a shelf in his room, even though Marianna Wheelan has long since decided that she’s too good for a dumb stoner like Ernst Robel.)

 

Ernst Robel is thirteen years old when he kisses a boy for the first time. 

Melchior Gabor is tall and handsome and clever, with bright green eyes and artfully messy brown hair and natural perfectly pink lips. He’s third in their class, but he’s probably the most intelligent boy in the whole school and could do way better if he tried. As the priest’s ‘favorite altar boy’, Ernst was sent over to his house to make sure that Melchior isn’t “Straying from God” because the Gabor’s are getting a divorce. Ernst doesn’t see why he has to go, because  _ everyone _ knows that Melchior’s been an atheist since 5th grade, but he’s never one to turn down an opportunity to get out of the head priest’s office.

It’s not gentle but Ernst isn’t exactly used to gentle anyway, so he doesn’t mind. Melchior hums as they part.

“You’re not good at that.” Melchior says, “Haven’t you ever kissed someone?”

Ernst thinks of the people that he’s kissed and been kissed by, of the many girls and of the priest, and says, “I’ve never kissed a boy.”

Melchior squints like he doesn’t quite believe Ernst, like he can see the faint red of bitemarks on Ernst’s shoulders and the hand-shaped bruises on his hips, but he doesn’t press. “Well, you’re still not good at that. If you’ve kissed girls, you should at  _ least _ know what you’re doing.”

“And how would you know that?” Ernst asks, “Have  _ you _ kissed a boy?”

“Of course not,” Melchior scoffs, as though he hadn’t just had his tongue in Ernst’s mouth, “I read about it, in a book.”

Ernst scrunches up his nose because  _ books _ really don’t sound like the best way to get your information of practical things like kissing, but instead he just says, “Do you want to kiss again?”

“No,” Melchior says, attention already turning from Ernst and back to the book he was reading before Ernst came in, “But you can tell Father Kaulbach that I’m not going to stop being an atheist just because he sends a church boy to seduce me.”

“That’s not what I-” Ernst starts to say, but Melchior is already reading again, with headphones in. 

Ernst sighs and shows himself out.

(“Was I really the first boy you kissed?” Melchior asks, years later, as they lie in his bed.

“Yes,” Ernst says, rolling his eyes, “Stop asking.”

“But was I the first boy that kissed you?” Melchior pushes anyway, because he’s an asshole with no boundaries and no concept of decency. 

“ _Stop_ _asking_ ,” Ernst says again. Even if he had answered, he’d have said no anyway. He would’ve never count Father Kaulbach as a boy.)

 

Ernst Robel is fifteen when he meets Hans Rilow for the first time. It’s lunchtime, beginning of second semester of freshman year, when Ernst notices him. But Ernst doesn’t just  _ notice _ Hans, no, what draws Ernst’s attention is that Hans is holding hands with  _ another boy _ . In a town like the one they live in, one where everyone is either Catholic or Jewish or Melchior Gabor and, no matter what, they keep all their skeletons and other secrets in their respective closets, it’s a bold statement.

“Who’s that?” Ernst asks Georg, whom he’s eating with today because Georg’s asking him for advice on his girlfriend. What Georg doesn’t know, and what Ernst doesn’t intend to tell him, is that Georg’s girlfriend Thea asked Ernst for advice on how to break up with Georg a week ago. 

“Who? Oh,” Georg looks over at the boy and sneers. “That’s Hans Rilow and his  _ boyfriend _ Max Von Trenk.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, Max goes to my temple,” Georg says, “It’s just him and his mom, who  _ knows _ what kind of man he has for a father, but she doesn’t seem to care that her son is being  _ like that _ .”

Ernst hums. Georg lives in a bubble of sorts, where he thinks that if people aren’t visibly gay all the time, they have to be straight, and it’s really in Ernst’s best interest not to correct him; Georg’s mom makes the  _ best _ pies and it’d be a shame if Georg decided to hate Ernst. Georg has turned back to his lunch and his cell phone, where he’s trying to draft the perfect text to Thea, but Ernst continues to look over his shoulder at Hans. Hans has dark skin and sharp features and when he smiles at his boyfriend, it’s enough to make Ernst want to go over there and talk to him. 

“Does he go to church?” Ernst asks. Georg looks up at him, frowning.

“What? Max is Jewish, of course he doesn’t-”   
“Not Max, Hans,” Ernst says, because it should be obvious. “I haven’t seen him around, does he go to church?”

Georg looks at Ernst flatly, then down at his phone case that literally says  _ Nice Jewish Boy _ , then back up at Ernst. “Do I look like I know who goes to church, Ernst? All I know is that he doesn’t go to temple.”

Ernst nods, sheepish. “Yeah, that makes sense. I’ll just go ask.”

“Wait! You can’t!” Georg says, panicked.

“Why not?”

“What if you…” Georg leans in and whispers, “Catch something?”

Ernst resists the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s not how it works, Georg.”

Before Georg can protest again, Ernst is up and weaving through the mess of tables until he reaches Max and Hans. “Hey.”

Max and Hans looks up at Ernst and then share a glance. 

“Listen,” Max says, cracking his fingers in a way that would maybe look menacing if Max was twice his current size, “If you came over here to make trouble then you should know that I’m on the soccer team-”

“I’m not,” Ernst says, “I’m just here to ask Hans a question.”

They exchange another glance, this one longer and featuring minute changes in posture and facial expression that probably mean that they’re having a silent conversation. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” Hans says eventually, ignoring how Max sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Do you go to church?”

“I- what?” Hans narrows his eyes at Ernst. “What?”

“Church. Literally a block away. St Gertrude the Great? It’s one of two fancy buildings in town,” Ernst says, babbles, “The only other one is  the  Synagogue and I asked Georg--Georg Zirschchitz, over there--and he said that you didn’t go there, so.”

Ernst trails off nervously, 


	3. happily ever after (below the waist)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is Pure smut. title from Bang The Doldrums by fob

Hans Rilow likes routine. He isn't book smart and he isn't ‘popular’, but he can follow a set of rules and instructions pretty well. So he has a routine; he goes to school, he skips fifth bell and hangs around the back of the school to sell to needy rich kids during lunch, he does the bare minimum, he goes home, he takes a shower, and he reads an old book from his grandparent’s shelf until one of them comes back to yell at him about  _ something _ . It's all very simple, but he's never been complicated. 

_ Or at least, I  _ wasn't _ , _ Hans thinks, slamming the house door as he comes in, if only because there's no one there to chide him for it,  _ before Ernst Robel came into the picture _ . Now, he's skipping more classes, selling less, and he gets home  _ significantly _ later.  _ And I haven't read Othello in weeks _ , he laments as he passes the neglected play on his dresser and throws his backpack down.

Hans huffs and enters the bathroom, throwing his school uniform--which has new stains on the jacket from where Ernst shoved him against the disgusting wall by the dumpsters and kissed Hans until he was painfully hard and then sucked Hans off until he was incoherent--into the laundry basket. While he's in the shower, he thinks about what he's going to do about Ernst, though he isn't even sure what an ideal solution would be; he's enjoying the regular sex, obviously, but it's thrown such a wrench in his normal routine, not to mention that he’s worried that Ernst might be getting attached--last week, Ernst had tried to sit next to Hans during class, like they were friends or something. Hans rolls his eyes even thinking about it. 

Hans is well-known and well-feared; Moritz Stiefel gave Hans his iPhone for adderall, xanax, and some weed earlier this month and that's not even the first time someone's given him valuables for drugs. He doesn't exactly like selling, but he likes the prestige and the unapproachability that it gives him, both of which he'll rapidly lose if someone realizes that he’s sleeping with  _ Ernst Robel _ , of all people.  _ Yes, _ Hans resolves himself,  _ I'll have to do something about this _ .

He doesn't jerk off in the shower, mostly because he doesn't want to have to clean his come out of the drain but also because he got off earlier. When he gets out and pads his way back to his bedroom, his phone is blinking with a notification. Hans takes his phone into his hands and frowns at the  _ missed call _ and  _ voicemail  _ notifications. His grandmother out playing bridge and his grandfather is out of state at a conference, not to mention that both of them would've called the home phone. Any “clients” wouldn’t have left a voicemail. He can't think of anyone else who would called him. 

_ It's probably just a spam call _ , He thinks, thumbing open the phone, only to see that it's not an 800 number, it's someone from his area code.

He squints at the phone screen.  _ No one that lives here should even have this number, _ He thinks, clicking open the voicemail app,  _ I swear, if this is Gabor bothering me about giving Stiefel’s iPhone back, I'm going to kick his ass. I got that phone fairly. _

But when he clicks to play the audio, it isn't Gabor at all, though he feels like he should've suspected it anyway.  _ Robel _ .

“ _ Hansi _ ,” A voice that Hans has become intimately acquainted with recently coos. Hans feels a simultaneous rush of annoyance and arousal. There’s a long pause full of labored breathing, then, “Sorry, forgot I was on the phone.”

Another bout of nothing but breathing. Hans rolls his eyes.  _ This is a waste of time _ . He's about to click out of the app when there's noise, like someone shifting on a bed.

“I’m s-sorry, I really hoped that you'd answer,” Ernst says, his voice tighter, tenser, now. Hans perks up. “But your voicemail message,  _ god _ , you sound so  _ mature _ and  _ commanding _ , it did- oh, fuck,  _ yeah _ \- it did the trick.”

“He's  _ jacking off _ ,” Hans whisper-yells to himself, eyes widening. Now that he's listening for it, he can understand it all; the breathing, the strain in Ernst's voice, and he's sure that he can almost hear the soft sound of skin meeting skin as Ernst palms himself. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Main Tumblr (pldubrahs)](http://www.pldubrahs.tumblr.com) | [Writing Tumblr (nacreousglowclouds)](http://nacreousglowclouds.tumblr.com/) | [Personal Twitter (@squidias)](http://twitter.com/squidias)


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